Did You Hear the One
by DeniseV
Summary: ...about the two stubborn F.B.I. partners? Just a short imagining of how it might go should one of them get sick.
1. Chapter 1

The coughing continued from the other side of the cubicle. Colby Granger shook his head. He reached for his coffee cup, found it empty, and was relieved to have a good excuse to get up from his chair and move away from his best friend, whose cold wasn't getting any better and threatened to contaminate the entire office. Granger walked into the break room and poured himself another cup. He added what was needed to make it drinkable and then stood leaning against the counter, taking a swig as he watched David Sinclair from afar. He was torn about what to do next. He had already urged Sinclair, more than once, to head home. So had their boss, Don Eppes. But whether it was overwhelming commitment to the job, or just plain old stubbornness – and in reality, it could have been both, the combination a brick wall if ever there was one – it was starting to grate on Granger's last nerve. He and his partner had discussed more than once how they hated it when sick people insisted on coming in to the office, and yet here they were, the one sicker than a dog, the other doing whatever was in his power to stay healthy. He put his head down in defeat, watching the coffee swirl about in his cup. He rubbed his stiff neck, heard the door open, and looked up.

"Hey, Colby."

"Hi, Don," he answered dejectedly.

"What's wrong?" Granger's boss asked as he headed to the coffee pot.

"David's still here."

"You're kidding?" Don asked as he looked out to the bullpen. He saw the big man sitting at his desk, coughing and working, head down as though trying to keep the germs confined to his area. Don shook his head, put his cup down, and headed out to talk to his senior agent.

"Where're you going?" Colby asked.

"I'm going to order him home." Colby was tempted to stop him. He was torn about this, for reasons that were more about him than his partner. They had a lot of paperwork to catch up on, and as he looked around the office he realized that he'd be the one picking up the slack in that regard. There was little Colby Granger hated more than paperwork, but one of those things was getting sick. He decided to go with the lesser of the two evils, even though he knew that he'd be blamed by his partner for ratting him out; he doubted David would look kindly on the move, even though it was as much for his own good as it was Colby's. Sinclair's ire was punishment he was willing to suffer if it meant be could avoid catching what David now had. He wondered as he watched Don reach David's desk how long he'd pay for his part in forcing Sinclair to go home. His boss seemed to be in an argument with his best friend; Colby decided that he'd best nip that fight in the bud and get out there and take his medicine.

David turned to grab his jacket as Colby came up to the desk.

"Good-bye," David mumbled, followed by a cough.

"David," Colby started, but Sinclair was having none of it as he brushed past his partner and rushed for the elevator. Don Eppes watched the interchange, such that it was, and then walked over to Granger.

"Don't worry. He'll get over it."

"I don't understand why he insisted on staying. We've all talked about this before, how we hate sick people staying around. Especially now, when that cold could actually be something else altogether." Nobody yet thought that the H1N1 virus had run its course, and it was important that everyone be extra aware of their health and how it could impact others.

Don looked at Colby as though he knew something Colby should. "What?" Granger asked.

"He says he feels bad because he's left you with a lot of the paperwork lately, with his new role as my relief back-up."

Colby snorted, and then lowered his head, shaking it back and forth. "That's true, he has. Funny how he hasn't told me how bad he feels about that." Don smiled back. Colby shrugged. "I just figured it's part of the deal."

"Well," Don said as he stood to leave the area, "that's for the two of you to work out."

"Thanks."

Hours later, as the end of the work day neared, Don found Colby in the same position he'd been in most of the afternoon: hunched over his computer, typing. A large stack of reports and their related documentation, in F.B.I.-issue folders, labeled, sat on the edge of the desk. He'd been at it. . .all afternoon. Eppes frowned as he approached his agent.

"I think that's probably good for one day, buddy," he said as he grabbed first one folder, flipping through it briefly before moving on to the second. "You're getting pretty good at this."

"Practice makes perfect," Granger said as he leaned back in his chair, twisting to stretch his back and shoulder muscles. He rubbed his neck and then added, "Besides, if we got any farther behind on these we'd never catch up."

"You're going to make David feel bad when he comes back," Don noted.

"I doubt it," Colby said, followed by a yawn. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Look, it's nearly five o'clock. Go ahead and call it a day," Eppes suggested.

"I'm gonna finish this one. I'm almost done." Granger yawned once more.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Been sitting in one position too long. And this isn't exactly exciting work."

Don Eppes looked at his young friend. Colby had been working a case with David for nearly a week now, in close quarters, sharing the same space where Sinclair had been hacking for days. They hadn't been able to finish up the paperwork on their last few cases, catching one case after another without a breather, and then this last one. Don was short-handed, with Nikki Betancourt at training back east, Liz Warner on assignment with the L.A.P.D., and a big financial securities sting absorbing all of his normal back-up. As he watched Colby continue to work, he sensed, much like a mother bird watching out for her flock, that this particular one would be unlikely to avoid getting sick if he kept on working like this.

"Come on, Colby. You can get back at it on Monday."

Granger sniffed, an unfortunate tell if there ever was one. "No, I really would rather get this one finished up. I'll only be another hour."

"Okay. No longer. It's been a long week. Get home and get some rest."

"I will. Have a good weekend," Colby said, finally looking up from his work. Don was pretty sure he saw a slight flush on the cheeks of the man from Idaho.

"You, too," Eppes said as he headed for the elevator. "Remember, no work this weekend."

"Right," Colby replied, his head immediately back down into his computer monitor. Don shook his head, not convinced that Granger wouldn't be here all weekend in order to catch up. He turned and pressed the down button, understanding that Colby was a grown man and that nobody could force him to stay away from the office if he insisted on coming in. The doors opened, he pressed the button for the lobby, and the doors closed on him as he watched Granger keep typing.

Two hours later, Colby Granger stood at his best friend's door, holding a bag with takeout chicken soup, fresh baked bread and scones from the nearby bakery, and milk and assorted juices for his partner's refrigerator. He'd tried calling earlier, but figured that David was sleeping; he hadn't gotten an answer, and he opted against leaving a message. He knocked on the door, got no response, and let himself in with his key. He walked to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Colby stretched stiff muscles as he put the juices and milk away, set the bread and scones aside, and poured the soup into a pot to heat up; it had been colder out than he'd expected, and parking was always an adventure at David's place, so he'd ended up walking a long block and a half from his car to Sinclair's door, a cool light rain accompanying him. The soup, though he'd brought it straight from the café, would taste better heated up, and would make his sick friend feel better served at a proper temperature - and it would do wonders to warm him as well. Granger made sure the heat was on medium-low, and then went to check on his friend. He walked across the dining area, through the living room and then into the small hallway that led to the master bedroom. He nearly knocked heads as David came out of the bedroom just as Colby had tried to enter it.

"Hey," he said as he stopped just short of crashing into his partner.

"What're you doing here?" David asked, his voice scratchy, his t-shirt and sweats disheveled and wrinkled from sleep.

"I brought you some dinner, soup and some bread from that bakery you like," Colby answered.

"I thought you didn't want to be around me and my germs," Sinclair said as he headed to the kitchen.

"I just thought I'd stop by, check up on you. I figured you wouldn't have bothered doing anything about supper," Granger added as he watched his friend pass him by. It had been a long, busy week, and based on how sick David had been the last couple of days, Colby knew he would head straight home and spend some quality time in bed. He remembered that David had mentioned that his cupboards and fridge were bare. Granger followed Sinclair back as far as the living room and watched as his friend grabbed the orange juice that Colby had just placed in the refrigerator, opened it, poured himself some, opened what looked like a vial of prescription medication and downed a pill with the juice. David walked back past Colby, heading toward his bedroom.

"I'm going back to bed," he said.

"David. . ." Colby started.

"Thanks for the food."

"You should eat something."

"Not hungry. Lock the door when you leave," David dismissed his friend as he closed his bedroom door behind him.

Colby stood there, wondering what had just gone on. He walked to the stove and turned the burner off. He moved the pot off of the hot burner to cool. He looked around, feeling a little put out and a lot confused. He'd just been dissed by his best friend, and all he'd wanted to do was make sure that David was okay. The irony was that David was mad at him when he was the one who had every right to be mad at David. His head pounded, he felt hot, despite the fact that he was still wet from his walk from the car. He realized, finally, at that moment – or maybe he was just finally past the denial stage – that he'd caught whatever it was that David had. He suddenly felt tired, though he knew that he'd been going downhill all day. He looked at the sofa and then looked down the hall to the closed bedroom door. He'd be damned if he was going to leave here before having this out with his friend. He sat down on the sofa, grabbed the softest pillow on the couch, toed his shoes off and lay down. He fell asleep before he had a chance to plan out what he would say to his partner. . .once they were both conscious again.

* * *

David Sinclair exited his bedroom the following morning, early. He'd been sleeping almost steadily since he'd been summarily dismissed by his boss - and his partner - the previous afternoon. He entered the living room and found said partner asleep on the couch. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not loud enough for the sleeping man to hear. The irritation from yesterday hung on, and he really didn't want to talk to Colby Granger or anyone else from work today. It was Saturday, and he was supposed to be recuperating. His annoyance rose as he continued to watch Colby sleep.

"Granger," he said loudly. No reaction from the sleeping one, except the loud breathing bordering on snoring, which just aggravated Sinclair that much more. "Granger!" he called, this time just refraining from yelling the name. That didn't work, either. He stepped up to the sofa, leaned over and slapped his partner on the arm, this time not holding back. "Granger, get up!" Colby stirred, only a little, turning from sleeping on his side to sleeping on his back. "Hey, Granger," David called once more. He kneeled in front of the prone man and frowned, hearing the labored breathing. He also noticed, finally, his friend's face, flushed and sweaty. He put his hand on Colby's forehead, and then hung his head down with a sigh. "Just my luck," he said as he took his hand away and patted Granger's shoulder. "Sorry, buddy," he added as he stood.

Colby flinched as he opened his eyes. He saw David hovering above him and started to speak, but a phlegm-filled, rattling cough seemed to catch him off guard. Laying down only added to his troubles. He quickly rose to a sitting position, but the disorientation of sudden wakefulness and swirling dizziness made him tilt farther forward than he'd intended. Sinclair caught him, holding him in place as he struggled through the cough. David grabbed several tissues from the box on the coffee table and handed them to his friend, who gave a concerted hack to rid himself of the nastiness that threatened to choke him. A long minute went by, but Granger was finally able to speak.

"Thanks," he said, though the cough-roughened throat and the congestion would have made it hard for most people to understand him. David understood, as he would, but he refused to accept any gratitude this day.

"Colby, look, man, I'm sorry."

Colby just sat and stared, eyes glazed, listless as he kept his eyes upon his friend. He squinted and then rubbed his eyes. He seemed to lack the energy to do much of anything: move, lay back, talk. David moved the tissue box to the side and sat on the coffee table opposite his partner.

"You okay?" he asked, turning his head to cough into his arm.

Colby frowned, his eyebrows arching in and down. He stopped that, though, as it seemed to magnify the headache that was aggressively pounding just behind his eyes. He leaned back and laid his head on the cushioned sofa. He closed his eyes. "No."

"I can see that. Sit tight. I'm going to get my thermometer. Your temperature seems awful high." Granger had no trouble sitting tight. Moving seemed daunting at the very least. David came back. "This is digital. Open your mouth." Colby did as he was instructed. David coughed again. He looked at his friend, chagrined, but Colby'd taken no notice, his eyes shut as he kept the thermometer under his tongue. David continued, "This seems to have gotten you a lot worse than it did me. And fast. I'm sorry. . ." Colby interrupted.

"Da. . . ," he stuttered, hesitating as he was overcome with coughing. With the thermometer in his mouth, he felt like he was choking. The digital reading beeped, and Sinclair removed the gauge quickly. As the coughing eased, he continued, "David, can I tell you something? You can't tell Don. Can't tell anyone." Colby's breathing seemed terribly troubled for someone who'd had no symptoms the previous day. Or at least David didn't remember any, but he had been angry at Colby all day for conspiring with Don to get him booted from the office. He knew that he'd not been paying very close attention to his partner. Had he missed something?

"Take it easy. Your temperature is one hundred and two point six. Why are you so sick? I haven't gotten this sick, and I've had this for days."

"Don't remind me," Colby said dryly.

"I'm serious, Granger."

"Can I get. . ." he coughed, and then finished, "some water?" He opened his eyes with the plea.

David stared at his partner and shook his head. "Sorry. Yeah, I'll be right back." Sinclair turned for the kitchen and Colby sat up straighter on the couch.

"Stop sayin' you're sorry, David." Silence greeted the directive. Sinclair returned with the water. "Here."

Granger took the glass, though his hands were less than steady as he drank from it. He handed it back to his partner. "Thanks."

"Tell you what," David said, sounding angry, "how 'bout you stop saying 'thanks' and I'll stop saying 'I'm sorry'?"

"Deal," Colby agreed as he closed his eyes once more. He leaned hard once again into the cushions of the couch.

"What did you want to tell me?" David asked.

"You remember when Lancer. . ." Colby paused to clear his throat. ". . .had me on the freighter?" Granger asked. He stopped and took several difficult breaths. The talking was taking a lot out of him, in combination with the coughing and the congestion.

"It's something I'll never forget." Finding Colby not breathing was one of the scariest moments of his life; it was a moment David Sinclair never in his life would ever shake from his memory.

"He pumped me full of. . .lots of things. The doctors. . ." David interrupted.

"You said the doctors thought you wouldn't have any long-term ill effects from them."

"That's what they said," Colby replied. "They were wrong."

"How were they wrong?" David asked.

"I. . .um. . .my left lung was. . .it has some scarring from one of the drugs. They found it on my last check-up at the cardiologist."

David frowned and then said, "And you convinced the cardiologist that this information didn't need to be included in your physical results that were reported to Don?"

"I had to." David looked even more angry than he had yesterday when he'd left the office. "David, Don would have to reassign me. We. . .I couldn't be your partner. . ." Granger left it at that.

"Colby. You should have told me. This is the kind of thing that I need to know."

"What? You're not gonna tell Don?" Granger challenged.

"I should, but I won't. You're right, Don would have to bench you. I don't want that anymore than you do." Colby looked at his partner, confusion written all over his face. "Tell me what the doctor told you."

"The cardiologist. . ." Colby coughed. The talking was not helping him feel any better, but they needed to work this through. "He called in a respiratory specialist. He saw something he didn't like on the chest x-ray. One of the drugs stayed in my system too long, and it traveled to the most vulnerable organs for that particular drug, which happen to be the lungs. It only had time to affect the one lung before it made its way out of my system. But the damage had already been done." He breathed heavily, the long discourse on his lung condition worsening his current ailment as well.

"There's nothing they can do?" David asked worriedly.

"Surgery. But it's lung surgery. It has its own complications. And recovery period."

"What did they say the prognosis would be with the surgery?" Colby looked at David. He breathed heavily, hesitant to answer. "What?" David asked.

"The prognosis is good," Colby finally answered.

"Then why?" Sinclair started to question, but stopped, understanding the answer almost immediately. "You thought you'd lose your place, right? You almost lost your spot on the team before, because of your undercover work, and you didn't think, what, enough time had gone by? Did you think we wouldn't cover for you? That we wouldn't keep your seat warm for you? Is that it?" David coughed again. All this talking, though they needed to do it, was tough for them both. Sinclair was angry, angry at so many things. But right then, it was easiest to stay angry at Colby, because David had thought they were beyond all of the suspicion, the mistrust. "I can't believe this."

"What?" Colby squeaked. His voice was starting to show some wear and tear after all the coughing and talking, and his eyelids were fighting to stay open. "You can't believe what, David?" Colby's own ire was rising now, while his voice grew harder to hear. "I had to make the call that seemed right at the time. Yeah, we have been better, better than ever. And I want to think that I will never have to worry about you questioning my loyalties, my judgment. But. . ." Granger was fading, it was pretty obvious to Sinclair. And what was most unfair was making a man who was clearly so sick remain awake talking when he was on the verge of passing out.

"But I never told you that you had nothing to worry about." David remembered very few conversations specifically about what had gone on, both with Colby and his undercover work, and with them and how they both felt about almost losing their partnership. They had finally talked, and David thought he remembered saying this, or something like it. But if he hadn't, and it could be that he hadn't, and even if he had, it would never hurt to say it again. "I'm sorry, man. But I am telling you now that you have nothing to worry about. You are my partner, and something pretty damned drastic would have to happen for that to ever, ever change." He looked into Colby's tired eyes and added, chagrined, "Yesterday's crankiness notwithstanding." He offered his friend that affectionate David Sinclair smile. That smile always made Colby feel better; it was a smile that Granger had finally started to receive regularly once more once the two men had gotten back on an even keel after the Chinese spy mess.

Colby looked at his best friend and saw the truth in David's eyes, in his soul. The warmth and caring and commitment to them – as a team, as friends – was clear in the simple declaration. Colby grinned and said, "Thanks, David," then added, with a weary smile, "but I think you should check the definition of 'cranky'."

"Hey, I thought we agreed. You wouldn't say thanks anymore," David replied, ignoring his friend's vocabulary lesson.

"And you aren't supposed to say you're sorry," Colby countered.

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd let me in on your little secret," David chastised.

"Yeah, well, I've been properly reprimanded for it now."

David smiled. "Good."

"I have some bad news, though," Colby muttered, barely able to eke out the words.

"Now what?" David asked, as though another shoe had dropped.

"We have to go to the hospital."

"We do?"

"Yeah. If my temperature goes above a hundred and two, the docs said I have to head straight for the hospital."

David shook his head as he rose from his seat. "And when were you planning to tell me this?" he asked as he grabbed his jacket and his keys. He came back to help Colby up.

"As soon as we had our talk."

"Uh-huh. You are so frustrating sometimes."

"And you're not."

"Not like you," David retorted.

"Here." Granger handed Sinclair two business cards. "Can you call my cardiologist and my pulmonologist and see if they can meet us there?"

David laughed. "And what will you be doing while I do that?"

"I've got to call Don," Colby replied.

"Oh. I guess I'll help you out, then, because you're in the doghouse, man."

"Tell me about it." David put his arm around his best friend and walked him out the door as each of them whipped out their mobile phones.

CONTINUE TO PART TWO


	2. Chapter 2

David Sinclair continued making his two phone calls as his partner coughed painfully beside him. Colby Granger had hung up his phone quickly, though David didn't know the outcome of the call as he'd been otherwise occupied in a long conversation with Granger's cardiologist. The fact that he'd been put straight through to the heart doctor himself concerned the senior agent. It was clear that the physician who had been treating his friend since the freighter incident found the current situation serious enough to have taken the call, above all else that he'd already had scheduled for the day. The fact that the doctor agreed so readily to meet them just heightened David's worry for his friend. He had already found out that the lung specialist was on vacation in Europe, and that the cardiologist had acted as Granger's de facto primary care physician since he first treated the agent over two years ago. David kept sending worried looks Colby's way as his passenger continued to cough and hold his hand to his chest. The pain that the man was experiencing from the coughing brought sympathy pains to Sinclair's own chest. David hung up the phone and turned to his partner as they remained sitting in Sinclair's car in the parking garage of his condominium.

"Hey, are you okay?" He knew it was a dumb question. It was obvious that Colby was not okay, that the cough was an outward manifestation of something far worse going on inside. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and waited until Colby was able to respond.

"Oh, man, that hurts," Granger was finally able to acknowledge. He took shallow breaths as he eased his body into the corner made by the car door and the back of his seat.

"I can see," Sinclair answered as he started the car. "This came on kinda fast, didn't it?" he asked. He knew that it had, but had Colby been hiding some symptoms that David missed as he wallowed in his own cold-induced misery?

"I'd been going downhill all day yesterday," Granger admitted. "It was too late to do anything about it." He attempted a deeper breath, even though his lungs already felt overworked from the coughing; the talking definitely seemed like a workout. "It only turned bad overnight," he added, losing his voice on the last word. Sinclair understood it nonetheless.

"Yeah." David drove to the hospital, making mostly small talk, wanting to ask about Colby's call to Don. "Your cardiologist is meeting us. The other one, Dr. LeFevre, is on vacation."

"Thanks," Colby said wearily.

They drove a little farther, and then curiosity finally got the better of Sinclair. He broke the silence in the car with, "Couldn't get a hold of Don?"

Granger jumped slightly. He'd fallen into an almost-doze; it hadn't taken long to put him there. It killed him to admit it, but Colby had to accept defeat and admit that he was pretty sick.

"No." The one word started him coughing again. This time the cough didn't go on for forever. "Left him a message. Told him to call you."

David raised his eyebrow as he looked at his best friend. "You sure?"

Colby shrugged. "Cat's outta the bag now. And I'm not gonna be up for much talking." He paused and then asked softly, "Will, um, you stay while they figure this all out?"

Sinclair kept his eyes on the road. It hurt that Granger thought he had to ask. David made a mental note to talk about that with Colby. . .later.

"Sure," he said. "Maybe I'll even play a little defense with Don for you," he added with a smile that didn't come close to hiding his worry for his friend.

Colby sighed, stifled a cough as best he could, and replied, "No. He's got a right to be angry with me." He breathed shallowly, having decided that shallow brought on less coughing, before he continued. "I told him I would never lie to him again, after the spy thing."

"Yeah, but this. . .this is different," David started to justify.

"Nah, it's not. He won't see it that way." Granger settled this topic with a simple, "He shouldn't have to."

Sinclair nodded sadly.

They made the rest of their way to the hospital in silence, save for Granger's now persistent cough. David didn't know whether they were supposed to head to admissions or the emergency room. He wished that he'd asked Colby's cardiologist. He shook his head; it was too weird, too wrong, using Colby Granger and cardiologist in the same sentence. The strongest, healthiest, most physically fit, and hardest working person he knew had a regular cardiologist.

Sinclair pulled the car up to the E.R. entrance. "Why don't you go inside? I'll park and be there in a minute." Granger looked ready to argue with his partner. "Don't fight me on this. Just get out and I'll see you in a bit."

"'Kay," Colby agreed, his voice now raw from the constant hacking. He exited the car and walked, slowly, dejectedly, through the E.R.'s automatic doors. David parked the car and met up with the soon-to-be patient as he sat filling out forms.

"Hey," David said as he took the seat beside his friend.

"Dr. Josephs called ahead. They were expecting me," Granger ground out through a cough as he continued filling out the forms.

"You'd think with the number of times you've been here that they wouldn't need you to fill out any forms." Colby just nodded faintly in agreement. "Do you need any help with that?" David offered.

"No." Colby lifted a couple of pages. "It's just gonna take a while." His voice cut out on him, but David got the gist of it.

"Okay. I'm going to try to reach Don." He looked at Colby for a reaction. His partner nodded and shrugged and continued to fill in the blanks. David stood and walked to the far corner of the waiting room, near a window where he would get a good signal. He ignored the signs posted, warning to not use cells phones, dialed the number and waited, surprised at the sudden unease he felt. He turned so that he could keep a ready eye on his best friend.

"Eppes," Sinclair heard.

"Hey, Don."

"David. What's up? You feeling any better?"

"Uh, I. . .I just wanted. . ." he started, hesitant. His boss picked up on the worry on the other end of the line.

"What's wrong?"

"It's, um, Colby."

"Colby?"

"Yeah. He's sick. We're at the emergency room at West Los Angeles Medical Center."

"What? What happened?" Don asked.

"Well, it's actually a longer story than you think."

"I'm heading to the office for a couple of hours. Should I come there instead?" It was a Saturday and Eppes wasn't required to be in the office, at least not this Saturday.

"Yeah. Can you listen while I talk?"

"Sure."

"Can you not get mad while you listen?" David asked, already fairly sure of the answer.

"Just tell me what he did," Don demanded, the tone changing instantaneously from worried to angry.

"It's nothing like that," David prefaced, assuring his boss. "Turns out that there was some. . .lingering bad side effects of Lancer's torture," he explained. "Scar tissue on his left lung. It makes him susceptible to chest infections."

"Pneumonia?" Don asked, focused on the immediate issue. The subsequent issue of why Eppes was just now learning about the scar tissue would be dealt with in due time.

"Could be. Not this time. Not yet, anyway." He didn't tell Don that Colby hadn't yet been examined, that the diagnosis of pneumonia might still be at hand.

"How long has he known about this?"

It was the question David Sinclair had been dreading. He cleared his throat and dove in.

"He, um, he found out about it sometime after that last check-up with the cardiologist," David answered. Sinclair was sure that he could actually hear the wheels grinding in Don's brain as he went over these last weeks, checking the calendar in his head, running the numbers. . .doing the math. He wasn't as fast as his brother would have been, but he still had it figured out in just moments.

"He's known for a month?" Eppes asked, incredulous.

"Maybe more like three weeks," Sinclair said, hoping to help his partner prepare to fight this potential firestorm. He heard a long silence on the other end of the line. David knew that Don was driving, and the lengthy pause was becoming worrisome. "Don?" he checked.

"All right," David's boss said, though it was clear to Sinclair, from Don's tone, that everything was far from all right. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"They'll probably be examining him by then." David hoped that was true.

"I'll wait. Where'm I going?"

"Just come to the E.R. I'll let them know that we're expecting you." Sinclair heard the line go dead. He shook his head and looked toward the coughing. He walked over with as much nonchalance as possible. Granger caught his breath just as his partner rejoined him.

"He's pissed," Colby said.

"Yeah, he is. He's on his way."

"Great."

"How're you doing?" David asked.

"Just about done." It didn't take but a few words for Colby to be consumed by a painful cough.

"Good, 'cause if you're in there he can't yell at ya," David suggested.

"Wanna bet?" Colby stood up to return the paperwork. David followed. The sick agent got his insurance card back from the intake clerk and was told to take a seat, that someone would call for him shortly. The bright sunshine streaming into the glass-encased portico seemed intent to zero in on Granger's eyes. He put his sunglasses back on while he waited.

"How's your chest feel?" Sinclair asked.

Granger rubbed it and said, simply, "Hurts." To his partner, Colby's admission of pain of any kind was confirmation that it more than just hurt.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I know I should have packed it in sooner." David's apology irked the now, at minimum, twice-as-ill other agent in the waiting room.

"Yeah, so what was that all about, David?"

Sinclair shook his head. "I don't know." He looked at Granger and went on. "I guess maybe I didn't want anyone to think I was slacking. You're a hard worker, Granger. Sometimes I think you do it just to make me look bad."

"Slacking? Why would anybody think that?" Colby rubbed his forehead. David had seen the headache coming for some time; Colby's resistance was way down, and with it, his ability to hide how lousy he truly felt. "And I wouldn't do that."

"I know. I guess, you know, with these new responsibilities, as Don's relief back-up, that I've watched you pick up the pace, handle more. You seem to have an unlimited capacity to accept whatever workload you're given."

"I learned from the best, David," Colby said. There was no need to say that he meant Sinclair, though David suspected their former colleague Megan Reeves also had a hand in that. But Granger had learned so much from his partner. He found it amusing, somewhat, that his friend was expressing feelings of inadequacy when they were both cut from the same cloth when it came to commitment to their jobs. He snorted a laugh as he prepared to tell that to his best friend, but the snort started a series of long, painful coughs. David watched, helpless, as Colby struggled. By the time he'd finished, Granger was limply leaning back in the chair, holding his chest, a look of utter misery drawn across his handsome face. David rubbed his partner's shoulder and decided he shouldn't encourage any more talking. He would have to find out later about the laugh that had started this cough.

"Mr. Granger?"

David and Colby stood and followed the nurse. Sinclair stopped at the desk and asked them to send Don their way when he arrived.

* * *

"This is the pediatric ward, you know," Don Eppes said once he'd finally found someone familiar.

"Actually, it's the pediatric cardiac ward," David Sinclair replied with a slight cough.

Don looked at his senior agent, perplexed. "So why are we here?"

"I don't know. We met Dr. Josephs, his cardiologist, once they brought us up here. He asked me to wait out here for a while as he examined Colby."

"Well, how is he?"

"He's pretty sick, and got there pretty fast. The doctor thinks it's just a chest infection and a cold."

"_Just_ a chest infection?" Don asked.

"Well, he has my cold," Sinclair said guiltily, "and it's quickly set in to his chest. They moved a portable x-ray machine in there a couple of minutes ago."

"You should have gone home when I told you to and maybe you wouldn't be feeling so guilty."

"You're right, I should have," David countered angrily. "And he should have said something about this before now."

"Yeah, he should have, and he and I will be talking about that later."

Sinclair's guilt-induced anger subsided quickly at Eppe's reply. "Don't be too hard on him. He feels bad about keeping this news to himself."

"Good." Don watched as David put his head down. "How do you feel?"

David cleared his throat before answering. "Better."

"That's good. You sound better." Sinclair shrugged. "How'd you find out he was sick?" Don saw the guilt wash over his friend once more.

"He stopped by last night to check on me," David answered, shaking his head. "He brought me something to eat, wanted to make sure I was okay." He huffed a sarcastic laugh. "I gave him the cold shoulder, pretty much told him not to let the door hit him on his way out." Don winced. "Yeah. Found him on my couch after I'd slept comfortably in my bed, dead to the world, for about ten hours, longer if you count the afternoon. I can just picture him feeling like crap but covering for me when I went home sick."

Don shook his head this time, and offered a wide, knowing grin. "It's how he is."

"I know."

"It's one of the reasons we love him," Don said with a smile, hoping to ease Sinclair's guilt just a little.

"I know."

The two men were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, followed by the x-ray machine and a technician pushing it out. Moments later, Dr. Martin Josephs came out into the hallway.

"Agent Sinclair, and I take it you are Agent Eppes?"

"Don Eppes, call me Don," he said as he shook hands with the cardiologist. David smiled; he'd already tried the first name thing, but he'd found that the physician was unlikely to go the first name route, except with his patient.

"Let's go have a seat," Dr. Joseph's said as he walked down the hall.

"Can I see him?" Don asked.

"In a bit," the doctor said as he opened a door a few down from Granger's. "Sit," he suggested. The doctor did, in the chair behind a modest desk. "I wouldn't normally have this discussion outside of family, but Colby assures me that I'm not." He smiled when he said it. "That young man has been through a lot. I warned him that this might happen. I'm glad that he's finally agreed to the surgery."

"Surgery?" Eppes asked, surprised. "I thought it was just a chest infection."

"I'm pretty sure that it is, though it is anything but 'just'. He told me that he'd kept the news about the scarring from you. He assured me that he would tell you, eventually."

Don looked annoyed with the entire discussion. "I'm sure he figured that until it manifested in a problem, that he had time on his side."

"Still," the physician continued, "I should have insisted. What he's going through now is no picnic."

"What about this surgery?" Sinclair had been prepared to give Eppes this good news/bad news, but deferred to the expert for this particular testimony.

"Whether it was the length of time the drugs were in his system a couple of years ago, during his torture on that boat, or from the particular combination of drugs, he developed scar tissue in his left lung. We can go in and remove it, and then put him on a regimen of medications to help the lung heal properly."

Don nodded. "Is it dangerous."

"All surgeries have a modicum of risk." The doctor watched as Don rolled his eyes. He smiled and said, "But this one has a high probability of success."

"So why didn't he just schedule the surgery?"

"It's about a two month recovery, from the day of the procedure to when he'd be ready to come back to work."

"Well, that's nothin'," Don said as he frowned back at the doctor.

"Colby thought it was something, Agent Eppes."

Don looked at David, who shrugged his shoulder and said, "He's still a little gun-shy."

"I guess." The two agents sat silently for long moments, pondering their perplexing friend. The cardiologist decided to put both men out of their misery.

"You know what? You two both seem to want what's best for Colby. And based on your reaction, Agent Eppes, it sounds like the F.B.I. is okay with moving forward with the surgery. It's what's needed. Now, we can't schedule anything until he gets over this infection. I'm going to go make sure the x-rays don't show anything worse, and then I'm going to prescribe an antibiotic, intravenous to start, to try to knock this thing down. Why don't you go visit with him while I do that?" Dr. Josephs saw guilt on the one man's face, worry on the other one. "Come on," he said as he stood to leave. "I'll keep him here for several hours to get a good start on the antibiotic, and then I'll send him home with the rest of the course, by mouth. Go ahead. We're on the right track. Go tell him that." He looked directly at Don when he said the next part. "Don't be too rough on him today. He'll be in better shape to be yelled at tomorrow, or even better, Monday."

Don nodded. "Thanks, Doctor."

Dr. Josephs smiled. "Note that I approve of you trying to knock some sense into the boy," the cardiologist said. Don smiled; this physician, at least in manner of speaking, was straightforward, much like the senior Eppes. Don's father would approve, which was saying a lot, considering how little Alan Eppes enjoyed spending any time in the company of medical professionals. "Colby's a good man. I know I don't know everything that went on back then, or even since, but I do know here," he said, pointing to his head, "but more importantly, especially for a cardiologist, here," this time pointing to his heart, "that he is a good man, a patriot, and a man who loves his country and loves his job. I want him out there doing the good work."

"So do we, Dr. Josephs," Don Eppes agreed. "So do we."

* * *

Don and David opened the door and entered Colby's room. The walls were painted a circus theme: three rings across the wall opposite the two beds. The first showed elephants in all manner of costume, some with monkeys riding their backs, others rider less, performing assorted tricks. The middle ring displayed trapeze artists flying through the air, a high wire act joining in. The final ring had lions and tigers working together with a trainer. The colors, vivid greens, reds, blues, orange and yellow – primary. . .bold – adorned all of the walls. And in the near bed lay their friend, dozing.

"Colby, buddy," David said as he stepped up close, grasping his friend's forearm. Colby opened his eyes slowly, blinked as he looked around the room. He nodded, recognizing where he was.

"Hey, man," he said, followed by an attempt to clear his throat, which migrated swiftly to a cough. "Sorry," he finally added.

"Hi, Colby," Don said guardedly as he stepped in to Granger's line of vision. Colby could sense the tension in his boss' bearing.

"Don, hey, sorry. . ." he tried to get out. He was stopped cold by another series of coughs.

"Stop talking. Just listen a minute. The doc's gonna get you better and then you're gonna schedule the surgery." Colby started to respond. "Don't talk, just listen." Don shook his head and then smiled sarcastically. "You're usually better at listening. You're usually better at doing the right thing," he chastised.

"Don," David warned. Sinclair knew there was little else that would get his best friend talking than someone challenging his honor.

"I'm gonna save the real yelling for another day," Don continued, this time with the patented Eppes smile, warmth and friendship having replaced the tension pretty quickly. "Make no mistake, Colby. I am mad." Granger nodded but remained silent. Don looked from Colby to David, who was still recovering from his cold, and then back to Granger. "You two are quite a pair."

"Hey." David started to defend himself, but he was overcome by a cough. It was nothing like what he'd been doing the previous few days, and certainly nothing to compare with what his friend was suffering now. "Nevermind," he said. Colby snorted a laugh, but that led to another wracking cough. "Take it easy, buddy," David said. The door opened and Dr. Josephs walked in.

"Well that just sounds nasty. And painful."

"It is," Colby admitted, barely able to get it out between coughs.

"I'll bet. Nurse Donna here is going to set up a couple of IVs for you. One will be fluids to keep you hydrated. The other is the antibiotic. This is going to make you drowsy. Have you eaten today?" Colby shook his head no. "Then it'll probably knock you out. Sleeping through this is fine. I've got a sandwich coming in for you from Arthur's Deli. It should be here. . ." he paused as another nurse brought in a white paper bag. "Ah, here it is. Eat. We'll start the antibiotic once you've finished. You'll stay here the rest of the day. Donna or another of our fine nursing staff will be coming in every so often to make you cough, just to make sure that this doesn't settle into something worse."

"Like pneumonia?" Don asked.

"Bingo." Dr. Josephs looked back to Colby. "Eat." Granger opened up the sandwich and took a bite, and then another. He was starving and decided he'd best get this down before his appetite took the expected nosedive.

"So when you say all day. . ." David started to ask.

"He'll be free to go around five o'clock so long as his vitals and another chest x-ray all look good. "You understand all of that, Colby?"

Granger seemed to have learned his lesson and simply nodded his understanding, and took another bite from his turkey and swiss cheese sandwich. On rye. With tomato and mayo. David eyed the other half lovingly. It was a big sandwich and Colby was getting plenty full with one half. He raised his chin towards the sandwich, a 'You're off!' sign for David from his friend if there ever was one. Don opened his mouth, an 'o' forming in protest. Dr. Josephs laughed at the agents' antics.

"Well, I've got other patients to see. I'll see you later, Colby."

"Thanks," Granger eked out. And then he coughed.

"Stubborn," Dr. Josephs said to the two agents standing next to the sick one.

"You're telling me," Don and David said simultaneously. The doctor laughed and turned to leave the room. "Oh, and Agent Sinclair, go home and rest. No point in exacerbating your own cold."

"I thought I'd stay. . ." David challenged.

"Go home. I'll stay," Don volunteered.

"Neither. . ." Granger started but was immediately shut down by another horrible cough. He shook his head and pushed the last part of his half-sandwich away.

"Neither of you needs to stay," Dr. Josephs interjected as he frowned worriedly at his patient. "He's going to be resting, not talking. Come back for him at five, Agent Eppes." The cardiologist watched as Nancy raised the head of Colby's bed slightly and removed the remnants of his lunch.

Don looked conflicted, not wanting to leave Colby alone, but the cardiologist was being pretty clear that he wanted Colby's two friends to leave the hospital. The doctor could see that he would need to do more to get them out of Granger's room.

"He'll rest more peacefully if he doesn't think he has to entertain anyone."

"Okay," Don agreed. "I'll be back, Colby." Granger nodded, his eyelids drooping. The medicines had not yet started their magic, but all that coughing had wrung all of the energy out of the normally raring-to-go F.B.I. man.

"Feel better, brother," David said as he patted his friend's shoulder. Granger turned his hand to reach for his friend. Don, the doctor and the nurse left David to his private goodbye. Sinclair took the offered hand and grasped it tightly. Colby didn't hold tight for long as sleep took him, his hand going limp in David's.

Sinclair met Eppes in the hall. "I messed this up," David admitted.

"You did, but it exposed Colby's little secret, which is a good thing."

"Aren't you going to yell at me? You told him that you were still mad at him. If Colby's going to hear it from you, I probably should hear it, too."

"I don't know," Don said as he put an arm around the big man's shoulder. "Seems to me all that lingering guilt might be penance enough."

"Feels like it."

"Good. Then just go home, think about this. And rest."

"Are you going to make him stay Chez Eppes?"

"Probably. But you're staying put at home for the rest of the weekend. And if you aren't feeling up to it, take Monday off. Half the building's out sick now anyway; cold and flu season is wreaking havoc right now."

"I will." They reached the E.R. exit. "Call me later, let me know how he's doing?"

"You bet."

"See ya."

"Bye, David."

* * *

"So," Don said as he drove to Pasadena, "are you going to explain why you were in the children's cardiac wing?" They were returning from Colby's follow-up visit with the cardiologist. It was now Wednesday afternoon and Dr. Josephs had announced during the appointment that he was pleased with Colby's progress. The antibiotics had done a great job of clearing the infection, and good rest and care at the Eppes house had done wonders for his cold as well. Don was relieved that his friend was feeling better.

Colby laughed. "I was surprised we ended up there, too, but I guess Dr. Josephs figured I might as well be in familiar surroundings.

"Familiar surroundings?" Don asked curiously.

"Yeah," Colby said as he looked out the passenger-side window. He turned back to Don to tell his story. "You remember that after the freighter. . ." Colby began. Eppes noted how Granger still refused to describe what Lancer had done to him as torture, at least not in casual conversation. It had been over two years since that incident. Though Colby had recovered well, Don doubted his friend would ever truly be completely over what had happened to him. Certainly until the surgery was over, with what had to have been a frightening time on the freighter, and the miserable time he'd had leading up to it – and the painful days of recovery afterward – those memories would always be there, right at the periphery of Colby's existence. If Don still thought about them, how could Colby not? Don was glad that his friend seemed to be recovering from this chest infection as expeditiously as was its onset. And the sooner Granger had this surgery behind him, maybe, just maybe he'd be able to put that entire ugly episode behind him, once and for all. Don broke from worried musings about his friend to hear Colby continue his explanation.

"I was being seen weekly for a while by Dr. Josephs, just to make sure everything was healing properly."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I'm kinda surprised they didn't find this scar tissue thing back then," Don said. "Or at least sooner than this."

"Yeah, listen, Don, I am sorry about not telling you about it when I found out. I just. . .I needed time to decide. . ." Eppes cut him off.

"Don't worry. I've got enough information now to know why you did what you did, and it wasn't really that long that you knew, anyway. I get that it was a blow to hear that you needed surgery. Dr. Josephs and I talked."

"Yeah, I know. The scar tissue builds up over time," Granger explained, even though that was part of what Don had already heard from the doctor. Eppes took a worried look towards his passenger, who had gone back to looking out the window.

"So," Don said in an attempt to draw Colby away from serious concerns of surgery and recovery and being away from his team, and his partner, or whatever else Granger found out that window that so held his attention, and bring him back to the conversation at hand. "You were saying about the ward?"

"Yeah. Anyway, a lot of those appointments back then were in his satellite office in the pediatric cardiac unit."

"Right. All of those nurses saying hello and hugging you and kissing you were because of visits with your cardiologist?" Don asked. The investigator in him was sure that there was more to this story.

"No, no. After a while, going there. . .it just really gets to ya, ya know? Little kids with heart problems. . .that's gotta be one of the most wrong things. Anyway, I started coming in, when I could, to read to the kids, to play with them. To listen to them." Colby stopped talking, as though his story was finished. But Don wanted to know more.

"I had no idea. Were you trying to keep it a secret?" Don asked with a smile.

"No. It was just something I did."

And torture was just something that happened to him. Don knew it was in Colby Granger's nature to minimize things. Before, it was the effects of Mason Lancer's torture. This time, it was what he did for kids whose lives were precariously out of balance from heart problems. Both times, as in other events in Granger's life – from the death of his father when Colby had been so young, to the atrocities, the horrors of Afghanistan – Eppes was certain that the impact of what he did on his off time in rooms decorated with circus scenes was being given short shrift.

"That's nice. Do you still do it, visit the kids?"

"When I can. It's hard, they need lots of rest. Most of my visits are on the weekends now, but they get lots more time with their families on the weekends, too."

"You've definitely made an impression on the nursing staff, bud." Eppes caught the slight blush. "Did you date any of 'em," Don asked conspiratorially.

"Uh. . .no," Colby responded. A hesitation. Don wondered what that story was, but decided to quit the kidding and give his friend a break.

"So, did David tell you? Liz and Nikki are making dinner," Don said as he turned onto the street in Pasadena where he grew up, where his father and brother still lived, and where Colby would call home for at least another day.

"They're _making_ dinner?" Colby asked smartly.

"Yeah. They missed you."

"Yeah, right. They missed their favorite target, maybe," Colby joked.

"That, too. But seriously, it's not the same, not having you there. And I had Liz and Nikki in the office the last two days. Didn't have any place to send them. Do you know what that's like?"

Granger snorted a laugh. . .and didn't wind up in a wracking cough. He was so grateful to be on the road to recovery. He and Don, as well as he and David, had talked about the surgery. Dr. Josephs had recommended a solid two weeks from today before he'd consider it. He said that Colby would need that time to be sure the infection and the cold were completely gone. He'd scheduled the operation for a month from today: a clear chest x-ray was all he would need to keep that appointment with the surgeon.

"I can only imagine," Colby said sympathetically.

"God, they can be such girls together."

Colby smiled. "They're both beautiful women, and they are tough as nails, man. But yeah. Sometimes you just want to pull a Van Gogh when they really get going."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Any idea what's on the menu?" Colby asked. His appetite still wasn't all back, but he felt certain he at least wouldn't embarrass himself by leaving most of the food on his plate, or worse, down the bathroom toilet.

"I wasn't let in on the secret. Dad knows, but he's not tellin'."

"Hmm." Colby raised his sunglasses to rub at his eyes. Don caught the movement.

"You okay, bud?"

"Just another headache."

"What'd the Doc say about that?" Don asked worriedly.

"He said it was probably the antibiotic, but that I still had to finish it." Granger shook his head. "You'd think they'd come up with stuff so that you didn't have to feel worse before you felt better."

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath on that one. Besides, you're never good with medications, anyway."

"I know."

Don checked his watch, even though there was a clock readily available to him and easy to see right on the dash. "You should be able to catch a nap before we eat."

"Maybe that'll help."

Don pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. Both men exited the car and headed quickly into the coolness of the air-conditioned home and protection from the extra-heated Southern California late afternoon.

* * *

Colby Granger felt sudden warmth. He'd begun to feel chilled a while ago as he slept on the couch in the Eppes family's living room, but the good sleep – and the realization that his head didn't ache anymore – kept him from rising to do anything about the cold. It felt like someone else had done that work for him, and he was grateful for it. Granger also sensed that someone was there next to him still, that he was being observed. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep any longer, and besides, he was beginning to sense other things, wonderful aromas wafting in from the kitchen, murmured conversation, likely coming from the dining room. He opened his eyes to find Liz Warner and Nikki Betancourt staring at him.

"Hello, ladies," Colby said, smiling at the pretty picture before him.

"I like him this way," Liz said.

"Eh, I guess it's kinda cute," Nikki added.

"Also quiet."

"Yeah, no back talk," Nikki agreed.

"I wonder if there's a way to program it to be like this more often," Liz wondered aloud.

Colby's smile grew. "Are you ladies having fun?"

"You have no idea, Granger," Nikki said, offering her hand to assist the prone man to a sitting position. Colby took the offered hand and silently accepted the help.

"It's pretty ironic," Granger said.

"What's that?" Liz asked.

"You two talking about talking too much." Nikki said 'Ha!' and pushed him back down onto the couch.

"What am I, just your plaything?" he asked as Liz helped him up once more. She took the seat in the chair opposite him.

"You wish," Nikki said as she sat next to Colby and shoved his shoulder with sisterly affection with her own.

Granger snorted and shook his head, keeping his now blushing face hidden, or at least attempting to.

"Damn, Nikki. You win again." Liz pulled out a twenty dollar bill and slapped it into her friend's hand.

"Timing's everything, sister."

"How's that?" Don asked as he came into the room.

"Don't ask," Colby said as he rose to a standing position. Liz and Nikki both stood protectively to make sure he was okay. Granger looked from one to the other and then asked, "Are you going to escort me to the bathroom?"

"This I'd like to see," David Sinclair said as he joined the crowd, a beer bottle in hand.

"Hey, David," Colby said in greeting, reaching out for a brief hug. "I'll be right back," he said as he headed up the stairs.

"Is he okay?" David asked his two female teammates.

"I'm fine!" he heard his partner yell, exasperated, from the top of the staircase.

"He's fine," Liz and Nikki said together. The chefs for the evening giggled, gave each other a high five – and a low five – and then headed to the kitchen. David and Don looked at each other as they were left suddenly alone. "You survived," Sinclair observed.

"Barely. Are you done?" Don asked, hopeful.

"No. One more day of testimony. So that's one more day for you alone with Nikki and Liz."

"Yeah. I wonder if I can lend one of them out."

"I don't care what you have to do at the office, Donnie," Alan Eppes said, having overheard the last part of the conversation, "but whatever you do, you can't let them in the kitchen again."

"What, are they making a mess?" Don asked, amused.

"Smells good, whatever's going on in there," Colby said as he turned from the staircase and joined Don, David and Alan in the living room, close by the dining area. "We can help clean up."

"_We_ can help clean up," Amita Ramanujan said as she came in to the room with two bottles of wine. Charlie Eppes, her fiancé, followed behind with a pitcher of water. "_You_ just have to relax."

"Amita, I can help clear. . ." Charlie cut off his F.B.I. friend.

"Colby, you've been a guest here long enough, and often enough, to know that's just not gonna happen. We've got plenty of hands. You can do the math to figure out who sits this out."

"You Eppeses, and soon-to-be Eppeses are spoiling me."

"We love you, Colby," Amita said once she'd rid herself of her beverage burden. She reached up to give him a warm hug, which was returned in kind.

"Thanks, Amita." He loved them, too, as much as any blood relative he had. Sadly, it was likely his real family, and his Idaho upbringing, that kept him from saying out loud to these people what he truly felt. He wondered what the meaning of his silence said to his friends, this band of brothers and sisters who knew him so well, with whom he worked and played, with whom he lived his life, and for whom he would give it. These people who took him in and helped him to heal from injury and sickness. In spite of how much these people lifted him up and told him every day in action and in words how much he meant to them and how much worth he held in their eyes, he knew this flaw of his, this inability to say out loud what should easily roll off of his tongue, was a flaw in his character for which he held great emotion. In fact, some of the worst emotions he could think of: shame, disgust, embarrassment.

"Colby?" Granger turned to see Charlie looking at him worriedly. His genius friend took him by the elbow and led him to the far side of the room, intent on a quiet, private conversation. "We're not all the same, you know. We all have different talents, things we're each more comfortable with. You don't have to feel like you need to say how you feel. Whereas Amita feels comfortable telling you that, or my dad, or me, others of us, like you, show us in other ways that you do."

"I don't know why. . .I wish. . ." Colby stuttered before Charlie went on softly.

"That we all love you is obvious. And that you love us is obvious, too. It's a good thing that you have a better poker face when you're working undercover or interviewing a suspect; your face tonight would never exactly be described as inscrutable." Colby smiled, knowing that this was true. He felt enveloped in love in this house, with these people. "I don't think you should worry about not being able to say it. Meaning matters a great deal, whether it's verbalized or not."

"Are you sure you're not an English master rather than a math whiz?" Granger joked.

"Hah. You haven't heard about my spelling." The two men laughed at that and returned to the crowd now gathered in the dining room.

"Everything okay?" Don and David asked, not nearly in harmony.

"Everything's good," Charlie said as he rubbed Colby's back one last time before sitting next to Amita at the table.

Liz, Nikki and Alan started bringing the food out to the table. Everyone else sat down and waited for their servers to finish. Colby reached for a swig of David's beer, but his hand was slapped away. Some of the food was recognizable, other dishes not so much. Colby asked the obvious question. "Is there a theme to this feast?"

Liz smiled that dazzling smile of hers and replied, "I'm so glad you asked. And yes, there is."

"It's in honor of you, Colby." A perplexed look on everyone's faces, not just Colby's, spurred Nikki on. "It's a feast in honor of the three organs that have been giving you such a hard time."

Colby looked around the table, recognizing the artichoke 'hearts'. He grinned stupidly, and then realized Nikki had said three. "Three organs?" he asked.

"Yeah. Your heart, your lung. . ." Liz offered, and after just the right dramatic pause, Nikki finished.

"And your brain."

The family at the Eppes family dinner table erupted in laughter, at Colby's expense. It took them all a while, however, to finally realize, as they eyed the food on the table, that they weren't too sure what everything else being offered by the ladies of the F.B.I. was. Charlie leaned over to his father and asked under his breath, "Does F.B.I., in this case, stand for 'food borne illness'?" Alan nearly lost his drink – through his nose. The laughter simmered down to an occasional snort and chuckle as Liz and Nikki took their seats. Don pulled a bowl nearer for closer inspection, squinted at the food, tried to sniff it without offending the two women he'd be stuck in the office alone with tomorrow. He looked across to David, who averted his eyes.

Don asked, "Um, wh…what is this?" Colby sat back, watching his friends, enjoying the camaradie – and his improved health - and really, really happy that his boss had taken over the role of target of the two women who had made this. . .meal.

The End.


End file.
